


Out of the Trenches

by spikesgirl58



Series: Working Stiffs [71]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First poisoning Mr. Waverly, then being kidnapped by THRUSH, there are some days that it's not worth getting out of bed.  A new Working Stiffs</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Trenches

Nobody gets how lonely it is.  I have no friends, my business associates look at me with both distrust and thinly-veiled sneers.    What is my crime?  I am good at my job and nothing gets in the way of that.  For some reason, that alone is enough to censure and exclude me from everything.  They called me unflattering names, comparing me to ice.

Most days it’s okay.  I bury myself in my responsibilities, which are demanding and varied.  I don’t think of the family I left behind, the missed opportunities at love or children.  The job is enough… most days.  Except for those days when I inadvertently poison my boss.

It was, of course, an accident and there was no intent, but that didn’t stop them from relieving me of my duties and posting a twenty four hour guard on me.   So, there I sat, sucking down Roy Rogers and eating maraschino cherries at a neighborhood bar and endured the stares of what may well be my former co-workers.

None of them seemed to care about all the sacrifices I‘d made to get to my position.  All they cared about was that I was grist for the rumor mill.

“Lisa?”

I looked up as Mr. Kuryakin sat down at my table.  He’s nice enough, a bit of a stranger in a strange land in his own right.

“Illya.”

“How are you holding up?”

I gestured to the pile of cherry stems.  “Just great.  Anymore and I may well turn into a bar fly.”

He smiled slightly.  “If it were only that easy.  I’m here to escort you home.”

“I have my own escort.”  I gestured back to where Agent Pickering was sitting and waiting for me to make a move.  I had no doubt he’d even follow me into the ladies room if I tarried a bit too long there.

“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation.”

“It was a mistake, Illya.  I’m very aware of it.”  Tears started to well up in my bloodshot eyes.   I’d spent most of the day brushing them away.  Suddenly there was a white handkerchief in my hands.  “Thank you.”

He leaned closer.  “We know you are innocent.  The culprit has already been tracked down as Mrs. Waverly’s Hungarian goulash.  You have been exonerated.”

For a moment, I sat, stunned, unsure whether to laugh or cry.  He brought a finger to his lips and I cocked my head slightly in question.  _What?_ I mouthed.

“There are three THRUSH agents over there and they are very interested in you.” I paled and he took my hand, his grasp was warm and reassuring.  “Never fear, both Napoleon and I, plus a dozen other agents are watching them.”

“Then what?”

“You need to slap me.”

My mouth dropped open and I shook my head.

“To catch a spy, who better than a Mata Hari?”  Illya pressed something into my hand.  “That is a tracking device, in case the unthinkable happens.  They need to think that you are ready and willing to betray UNCLE.”

“But I would have to be detrained and pass through a battery of tests before…”

“If this was an official retirement, yes, but if you are angry enough to react on the spur of the moment…”

That’s when I slapped him, sending him back into his chair, his face a display of shock and surprise as his hand went to his face.

“How dare you?” I yelled and stood.  “How dare you?”  For good measure, I threw my drink at him and stormed away.  In my hand was the bobby pin homing device and I tucked it into my hair, making sure the homing device was turned on first.  I stormed from the bar while a stunned silence followed me.

I stood on the street, waving at taxi after taxi when a man appeared beside me. 

“Hello, Miss Rogers.”

I looked at him and made a face.  “You saw me slap that guy in there?”

He grinned and my stomach curdled.  “I did.”

I lifted my fist.  “Well, I got plenty more where that came from.”

A taxi pulled up and I got in, only to have him tumble in behind me.

“Where to, ma’am?”  Even with the twang, I recognized Napoleon’s voice and saw a pair of familiar eyes studying me with the rearview mirror.

“Here,” the man said, leaning forward and giving Napoleon a slip of paper.

“Leonard and Centre Streets,” Napoleon read aloud slowly.  He appeared to be thinking.  “That’s right by Chinatown, ain’t it?”

“That a problem?”  The THRUSH agent leaned forward, his voice promising trouble.

“Not for me, it ain’t.” Napoleon clicked his tongue and slammed the car into drive.

               

Even knowing that I was in UNCLE’s care and protection, I was terrified.  My job as Waverly’s secretary had trained me for abductions and hostile attacks, but nothing like this.  It suddenly occurred to me that I was part of an affair.  Worse than that, I was the Innocent.

All the while we drove, Napoleon kept up a steady stream of inane conversation, the way some cabbies do.  His eyes never made contact with mine for any length of time, just as a stranger would, and finally we drove into Chinatown, but for all I knew, we could have been on the moon.  I never ventured far from home and since becoming Mr. Waverly’s secretary, I was pretty much on call twenty four hours a day.  I moved from my little apartment in the Bronx to the brownstone next to UNCLE HQ.  Without any social life, I pretty much just watched TV, read and waited for the phone to ring. It doesn’t sound like much, but it was my life and I loved it.  Now I wondered if I’d ever see it again.

“Okie dokie, here we are, folks.”  My compatriot/kidnapper leaned forward and handed Napoleon a wad of bills.  “I don’t have that much change, mister.”  Napoleon tried to pass some of it back, but the man refused. 

“Keep it as a tip and forget you ever saw us.”

“Right.”  He clicked his tongue again and as we climbed out the taxi, he turned his roof sign to out-of-service and reached for the radio.

I looked around at the buildings.  It was New York, but it wasn’t.  The signs were in Chinese and there were people everywhere.  The road was choked with vehicles and the sidewalks blocked by displays and temporary carts.  Even the air seemed different here, perfumed with incense and food odors.

A little, hunched-over old man approached me, holding a paper flower in his hand.  It shook so much that the flower appeared to be caught in a whirlwind.  Around his neck hung a tray with dozens of other assorted flowers of different colors and shapes.

“Nice flower, missy?”  The voice was crackled with age and nearly intelligible because of the accent.

“Go away!” My escort demanded, but the old man must have been hard of hearing.

“Pretty, pretty for lady?” He tried again with a grin and I made a face at the stench of his breath.  Rotten teeth have a way of doing that and I could see his broken and blackened teeth.  I wanted to cry.

“I said, go away!”  The THRUSH agent raised his hand and I immediately turned away and stumbled, falling into the little old man.  I cried out and saw Napoleon step from the cab.

“Hey, you!  Don’t you hit her!” Napoleon shouted and others turned in the THRUSH agent’s direction.  That’s when I heard gunfire.

Suddenly everything sort of took on a slow motion effect.  I thought about home and my three kitties, all waiting patiently for me, of Mr. Kelly, to whom I owed my job and career.  I thought about my parents, my siblings, and all the regrets that I had. 

Then, abruptly, it was totally quiet – it was as if everything in the world had just stopped. The moment I became aware of it, the mood was broken and the city sprang back to life.  I saw only brown in front of me and realized the flower tray had been propped up as a sort of shield.  Someone helped me to my feet and that was when I realized the little old man was, in fact, Mr. Kuryakin.

“Are you all right, Miss Rogers?”  He kept his face turned from me to spare me his breath. 

I nodded and shuddered when I saw the fallen body of the THRUSH.  “Is he…?”

“Sleeping, I assure you.  UNCLE prefers hostages to bodies.”

Napoleon approached us, tucking his weapon away.  “Everything okay?”

Surprisingly, it was.  And that’s when it hit me.  There had just been a gun battle and yet no one seemed to notice that anything had happened. 

I nodded slowly.  “Does anyone care that there was gunfire exchanged here?”

Illya and Napoleon exchanged a ‘Don’t teach your grandmother how to suck eggs’ look.  “Don’t worry,” Napoleon said.  “We have men inside and everything is fine. Thanks to you, THRUSH is now out of business here. “

“But the people…”

“Business as usual.  We’ll make sure of it.”  Napoleon nodded to his cab.  “You ready to go home?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“Illya?”

“I’ll clean up out here and meet you back at headquarters.”  With that, he gathered his little tray of flowers and disappeared back into the crowd.  No one even appeared to have seem him as he passed by.

                                                                                ****

That night I was cuddled with my cats on my sofa.  I had a cup of tea cooling on the coffee table and a pile of tissues the size of a small mountain at my feet.  Everything had hit me once I’d stepped into those familiar walls and locked the door.  I had had a major meltdown.

Perry gave me a head butt and I held him close.   Unlike his sister and their mother, he was my worrier.  He knew something was wrong, but didn’t know what to do about it.

“I’m okay, Perry.”  I rubbed his head and realized that I was okay.  Mr. Waverly was on the mend, although still in Medical.  The affair had been successful and several THRUSH agents were now in our tender care.  I was home, safe and sound, without even a bruise to show for my adventure.  I felt empty, as if for just a moment, I’d been handed a lovely prize and then had it snatched away a moment later. God help me, even though I was terrified, the excitement had been intoxicating.   I wondered if this was how it was for the other Innocents.

There was a knock at the door and I hesitated.  It really was the middle of the night, but I answered it, letting Illya in.

“How did you know I lived here?” I asked before realizing what a dumb question it was.

He knelt as Molly ran up to him, chirping.  I’d never seen her do that before.  “Hello, Molly.”  He knelt to scratch her chin.  “I’ve missed you, too, but you tripped Napoleon one too many times.”  He smiled at me, warm and relaxed now.  “Thanks for taking her in.”  As an office cat, Molly had been a failure, but as a house cat, she surpassed all expectation.

“Mr. Kelly insisted.  Had I known she was a wayward mother…”  I laughed.  “I wouldn’t have done a thing differently.  Is everything all right at home?”

“Well, Napoleon has made dates with two different women…” Illya checked his watch.  “For tonight and is vainly trying to figure out which one to pick.  There is a mound of paperwork on his desk that will no doubt find its way to mine by tomorrow morning.  Mr. Waverly is resting comfortably and Mrs. Waverly is interviewing cooks.  There are three minor uprising we are watching and Russian is preparing to launch a new satellite.  All in all, I would say, yes, everything is fine.  Are you all right, Miss Rogers?”  He straightened up and adjusted his jacket.  I could see a bulge under his arm, his weapon.

I saw him looking past my shoulder to the mess by the sofa.  “I… I’m trying to be.”

“It can be unnerving the first time.”  He patted my hand.  “It will pass.  Try and get some rest.”  He turned to leave.

“Illya?”

“Yes?”

“Is it always like that?”

“We were fortunate today as no one perished.   Luck favored us.”

“I mean, being an agent.  I mean, the gunfight and everything?”

“The danger and the excitement are a large part of the job, so is the often mindless boredom and waiting for an opportunity.  It is not without its attraction, but know that what you saw today was merely the slightest hint of what it is like.”

“I think I understand you agents a bit more now.”

He laughed and shook his head.  “I most sincerely hope not.  Be content in your life, Miss Rogers, for many of us would trade for it in a heartbeat.  Whether you realize it or not, you are of great value to us.”

Illya gave Mollie’s chin one last scratch and was gone.

Tomorrow I would be a different woman because of today.  Tomorrow I promised myself I would be less cold and more empathetic towards the agents.  Tomorrow I would approach one of my coworkers and ask if she’d like to get lunch later in the week.  Tomorrow I would become Lisa Rogers, former Ice Queen and a kinder person.  Because of today, I would be a better person tomorrow.  Illya was right.  Luck had, indeed, favored us.


End file.
